Suzanne Allain - Incognito

Of course, for the purpose of his visit he was not to be known as Lord Wesleigh, but rather, Alexander Williams. This had much distressed his friend Jonathan Sedgewick, when Alexander had revealed his plan to him a few days earlier.

“You wish to pose as a curate? But why?” Sedgewick had asked, after the initial greetings had been exchanged. Jonathan Sedgewick was a handsome young man, with fair hair and blue eyes. Alexander had always liked Sedgewick, but there was no denying he took himself a little too seriously. Alexander should have known Sedgewick would not react well to the little masquerade he had planned.

“That is a long story, my friend, and one that does me little credit,” Alexander replied, still stinging from his father’s words earlier that day.

“I would like to hear it, just the same.”

So Alexander explained that his father thought it time he was married, and had arranged a match for him with a Miss Smithfield, whom he had never even laid eyes on.

“Miss Smithfield!” Sedgewick exclaimed loudly.

“Yes,” Alexander said, a little startled by the vehemence of his friend’s response. “Miss Smithfield. Her mother went to some ladies’ academy with my mother. Apparently they have nothing better to do at those schools than sit around and discuss the futures of their unborn offspring.”

Sedgewick did not respond to his friend’s attempt at humor. He still appeared to be in a state of shock. “But it cannot be, not Miss Lydia Smithfield. Could it have possibly been Miss Emily Smithfield?” he asked.

“I think I would recall the name of the lady, if nothing else. She is the eldest of the Smithfield daughters.”

“Yes, Lydia is the eldest.” The thought seemed to depress Sedgewick greatly, and he became silent and distracted. Alexander stared at him quizzically, wondering what had come over his friend, but having his suspicions. “There is nothing wrong with the lady, I trust?”

“Of course not!” Sedgewick answered, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “A more beautiful, caring, wonderful girl does not exist in the entire world!”

“That is quite a testimonial. I suppose, then, I should thank my father for engaging me to her.” As Sedgewick seemed, if possible, to grow more depressed at this statement, Alexander smiled to himself. It seemed that this charade might not even be necessary. That is, if the young lady returned his friend’s obvious regard. But, even if she did, it was unlikely that her family would countenance her match with a vicar. No, he had better proceed with his plan. “But,” Alexander continued, “I cannot be thankful to my father for his high-handed manner of securing me a wife. So that is why I intend to pose as a curate. It will give me time to observe the lady and decide if I think we should suit. My father did make a stipulation that if we could not, he would not force the match.”

Sedgewick was not cheered by this bit of news. Knowing Lydia as he did, he was sure the marquess would take one look and fall head over heels in love with her. Yet he reluctantly agreed to make the introduction Sunday after the service was over. He also agreed to let Alexander borrow some of his jackets, even when Alexander inadvertently insulted him by saying it was because he did not want to present too fine an appearance.

Throughout the sermon, Alexander steeled himself to face his fate. He did not hear one word of the service, but from the abstracted manner of Sedgewick’s delivery, it was clear he had not missed much. Alexander did not know if he were more worried that he would like Lydia or dislike her. If he did like her, there was now the added complication of his friend Sedgewick’s evident regard for her. If he did not like her, he would disappoint his father and her entire family.

Alexander had yet to see the Smithfield ladies, as he was seated at the front of the church. When the service ended, he glanced casually around, and, as it was a small parish, with very few young ladies, he picked out a trio of ladies he felt could be the Smithfields. But, as they were headed out into the churchyard, he saw little other than the backs of their bonnets.

He waited for Sedgewick, and they proceeded into the open air. With their similar expressions of heroic resignation, they more closely resembled soldiers going to battle than eligible young men about to meet nubile young ladies.

Alexander had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust to the afternoon sun after entering the churchyard. Then he looked around for the ladies he had glimpsed earlier. “Is that her?” he asked Sedgewick under his breath, nodding toward a group of females.

Sedgewick followed his friend’s line of vision and nodded. Miss Smithfield turned and faced Alexander directly, and he looked her over carefully, before breathing a sigh of relief. His father had not been exaggerating when he had stated she was beautiful. But she did not quite match his father’s description. “I thought my father described her as being fairer,” he told Sedgewick.

Sedgewick shrugged. “She is not blond, but I would not describe her as dark-haired, either.”

“What are you talking about? Of course she has—” Alexander broke off abruptly, as he noticed another young lady standing next to what he was already thinking of as his young lady. And this lady had lighter hair and blue eyes. Apparently the first lady he had seen was the younger sister. He could hardly contain his disappointment as Sedgewick led him forward to make the introductions. But, then again, what was he thinking? He had no wish to be leg-shackled, not to either of the Smithfield daughters.

Emily had noticed the gentleman with the vicar and was quite intrigued. She had never seen anyone so handsome. She knew many considered Jonathan Sedgewick to be attractive, but she much preferred this gentleman, with his dark hair and intense brown eyes. She was a little embarrassed, however, by the thorough perusal she had just received from him. She studied him covertly, while the introductions were made, and was shocked to discover he was a curate. He carried himself as if he were a lord! No curate she ever knew would have looked at a lady the way he had just looked at her. He looked her way again, and she lowered her eyes in confusion, embarrassed to have been caught gawking at him like a schoolgirl. When she finally raised her eyes, she was miffed to see that he was studying Lydia as intently as he had her. Foolish girl, she chided herself, why would you want the attention of a curate, anyway?

She listened intently as her mother spoke to the gentlemen, too nervous to add anything to the conversation, her eyes straying far too often to Mr. Williams’s perfect features. So intent was she with trying to sort out these new, inexplicable sensations, she completely forgot her resolve to involve Lydia and Sedgewick together in conversation, and they stood as mute as she, while her mother invited the curate to dinner that evening. The dinner party was the first maneuver in Emily’s plan to get Lydia and Jonathan Sedgewick together. She had convinced her mother that they needed to entertain some of the local families in the parish, to repay them for the many kindnesses they had received since they had moved to the area just over two years ago. The vicar was on the guest list, and now it seemed that his friend, Mr. Williams, was as well. Emily felt her plans were proceeding well. But she didn’t know yet how Mr. Williams fit into them.

Dinner was a dull affair, as Emily was seated far from Mr. Williams, who was the only person of interest at the table. Emily assured herself she felt that way because he was new in town, and she had known all the others at the table for more than two years. Regardless, she found her eyes straying to the other end of the table more often than was proper, and she quickly lowered her eyes and looked away when she caught him looking at her as well. Stop making a fool of yourself, Emily, just because he’s the handsomest man you’ve ever seen, she told herself. There are probably scores of gentlemen like him in London.

Mr. Thistle, the local magistrate, was seated to Emily’s left. He was a bachelor but, being over sixty, was not an object of much interest to the young ladies. Even so, Emily usually honored him with a light flirtation, as he had an eye for a pretty girl, and she knew he enjoyed teasing her. Tonight, however, she paid Mr. Thistle little heed, her thoughts distracted by Mr. Williams, until she heard him mention the highwayman.

“What highwayman?” she asked, her first contribution to the conversation other than a polite nod here and there.

The old man was delighted to have Emily’s attention. “You must have heard talk of it by now.”

Emily assured him she had not.

“Ah. What a novel position for me to enjoy. It is unusual that I, a gentleman, am able to import some small bit of news to a lady.” Mr. Thistle chuckled at his own witticism, until Emily reminded him that he had not yet shared his bit of news.

“Yes. Well it seems some brigand has robbed three carriages, on the London road, only a few miles outside Stonehurst.”

“How shocking,” Emily replied, her interest truly caught. “I hope no one has been injured?”

“Not yet; apparently there has not been cause. In each case, the inhabitants of the carriage surrendered their belongings without protest. I happen to believe that the wise course. Of what value is some trinket in comparison with one’s life?” Emily murmured her agreement. “If you ladies make a trip to town, or even to Rye or Hastings, be very careful.”

Emily agreed that they would, and before she had a chance to ask any other questions, her mother was giving the signal that it was time to leave the gentlemen to their port, and the ladies retired to the drawing room, where the talk was all of the mysterious highwayman.